Some Healer
by KarotsaMused
Summary: Panic does not suit Hakkai, but he is learning. Too much is left unsaid, but Gojyo makes sure he understands.


A/N: Saiyuki is property of Kazuya Minekura. I am using it without permission and for no profit. 

Dear lord, I'm actually writing something. This is utterly piddly, though. Just a bit of dialogue and some scene blocking, because, well, actually, this wasn't originally a Saiyuki fan-thing. I know, I know, fanfic blasphemy, but one of my art projects next semester is going to be playing card-based superheroes, and I was toying with the idea of the major differences between the youngest and eldest (Deuces Wild and One-Eyed Jack, respectively) ...a bit of dialogue came out, and I thought about it for a few moments, smacked myself in the forehead, and drowned my sorrows in chocolate ice cream. I've been writing Gojyo and Hakkai for far too long. So, with a bit of editing (especially pertaining to Hakkai's particular ability levels), I bring it to you. Oh, yeah, and Jack and Deuce aren't attracted to each other in the slightest. I didn't change that.

Warnings: Language, themes. And I guess you could call it spoilers? Post-Gonou, pre-journey.

* * *

The days are getting shorter. Afternoons are still hot enough, still bright enough to sap the humidity from the chill, leaving it brisk, crisp, refreshing, but no less numbing. The mornings, however, are dense with fog, shoving the cold through layers of clothing to condense on bare skin. Gojyo stumbles, shoving his hands under his arms to work life into his fingers. He did not want to go home until the sun came up. With all of this fog, he can't tell.

He does not wear a watch. They are too big to allow for smooth movements of his hands, over skin and over cards. Over winnings that he has not managed to bring home.

He should have known better. Then again, hindsight is the luxury of the survivor. Their smiles had been too wide, their talk too friendly, the drinks too forthcoming. Gojyo is used to winning, but his fortune amassed so quickly it was startling.

Someone had planted that extra ace on him. Gojyo did not, as a rule, cheat for money unless he was desperate. Gojyo hadn't been desperate for a long time. And when he did, he did it well, never foolish enough to leave a card somewhere that it might fall free. And when he did, he was too serious to be drunk, too careful about his focus.

Gojyo had been drunk. Gojyo had been caught unaware. Gojyo had taken a beating that he did not want to bring home. And so he waited, walking, running, shambling through the streets until he was sure he was alone, and then waited some more. He decided to take the scenic route home. Every once in a while, he looks over his shoulder. He trips again, and the pain in his head grows worse. But he knows the route well enough.

Hakkai is awake when he crashes through the door, grasping ineffectually at the knob for balance. Hakkai sets down his coffee and grabs Gojyo before he takes a knee, then crouches with him.

"What happened?"

Gojyo manages a lopsided grin. "Sore loser." He winces as Hakkai's hand probes at the egg-sized lump to which his cheek has swelled. "I can sleep it off." Safe. Hakkai's face is safe. The room is warm. The numbness begins to fade, bringing with it consciousness enough to slur Gojyo's words. He trembles, his head drooping. The air is too thick to breathe.

"On the floor?" To prove his point, Hakkai lets go of Gojyo's shoulder and the redhead teeters, coming to rest heavily on his side with a gasp. He hisses sharply through his teeth, coughing against the pain in his gut. Everything cries out, coming to life at once, relaxing enough to scream at being split. "Stay there," Hakkai orders, and Gojyo curls around himself, coughing and sucking air like a man saved from drowning. When the fit subsides enough that he might moan in pain, his voice is high-pitched and haggard. He spits phlegm and dirt onto the floor, convulsing into the sick puddle.

There are pills in his mouth, there is a hand behind his head, there is water against his lips. "Drink," says Hakkai. And the pills go down. And nearly come back up. Hakkai rolls him onto his back and puts a hand on his stomach, rubbing gently, coaxing everything down. His hackles, his aches, his adrenaline, the pills; everything comes down. Even Hakkai's hold on his head does not prevent his crashing into unconsciousness hard enough to cause a splash.

* * *

Another violent coughing fit jolts Gojyo awake, sitting up in a soft bed, sitting up into Hakkai's hands, curling over his knees as they come up in spasms. Hakkai had been cleaning a superficial wound on Gojyo's shoulder, a shallow cut surrounded by heavy bruises. Now he waits as Gojyo coughs into the sheets, half-sobbing as tears roll out of his eyes. When the episode ends, Gojyo collapses onto his back with a heavy breath. He breathes deeply, closing his eyes hard against the searing pain in his head, driving the heel of one hand into his eye. His fingers meet bandages.

There is warmth over his legs, and he opens his eyes to find Hakkai's hands on the bedsheets. They are soaked with sweat, with saliva, but a few dark spots transfix him. Before he can open his mouth, the sheets are torn away and Hakkai holds his hands over Gojyo's ribs, healing with a frightening smile on his face. The glow of ki exaggerates his features, darkening the shadows around his brilliant eyes. The smile looks like a grimace, a determined blast of force into Gojyo that shocks the man from head to toe. He whines in surprise and Hakkai eases up only slightly, not once looking into his face.

Gojyo is whole. He can feel it. Inside, he is rebelling against the energy shoving into him, burned and twitching. Hakkai's hands are white-knuckled, bloodless. His elbows are locked, and his face is ghastly green.

"...stop."

And, out of shock, Hakkai does. Gojyo repeats the word. "Stop." He curls onto his side, wrapping his arms around his knees and holding them to his chest. He breathes fast and light, like a scared animal, his eyes shut tight against the world. Hakkai had healed him before, learning to manipulate his ki and using Gojyo's minor cuts and scrapes as test subjects for healing practice. The feeling then had been of control, of careful, meticulous, detached curiosity and calculated movement. It had been warm and gentle and comforting, then.

Gojyo's insides are steaming, shuddering of their own accord, frightened and unused to being a lightning rod. Gojyo hears the scrape of the chair as Hakkai pushes away from the bed.

"Hakkai," he calls. "Shit...Hak...kai...where're you?" He blindly reaches out and gropes through the air until fabric meets his fingers. He grips with twitching muscles, his elbow locking when he tries to pull back. "'mbleeding still."

Cold, trembling hands untangle his fingers. And then drop him. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeahwell." Gojyo reaches out again, but hits nothing. He opens one bleary eye, and in the blur of bright daylight, in the mess of trees dying for winter's sake, Hakkai stands just out of reach. Even when he rolls onto his stomach, his reach is not far enough. "C'mback." He straightens first one leg, then the other, forcing his muscles to stretch and exposing himself completely to the air. His feet do not find the sheet Hakkai tore away before. And as the shock inside him calms, the air bites at him. "'Scold...so cold. Hey hey."

The sheet returns, light and chill on his legs. "Yes, Gojyo," Hakkai murmurs. "You are still bleeding." As his cold, hard fingers swab wet cotton over Gojyo's back, he adds, "I suppose I am not much of a healer, am I?"

"Hn." And Gojyo again drifts into sleep.

* * *

When Gojyo opens his eyes again, Hakkai is gone. The sky matches the colors on the trees outside, shooting pink sparklers into the sky in a flamboyant farewell dance. The colors swim in Gojyo's eyes, intensifying the dull ache at the base of his skull. He sits up and groans at the dizziness that assaults him, tilting the floor away from his feet. Gojyo contents himself with sitting upright for a while, gripping tightly to the mattress for some sort of anchor.

And, because he has to, he calls, "Hakkai?"

The smile is back. The easy, lying, beautiful smile that touches nothing on his face but his mouth so he keeps his eyes closed. "How do you feel, Gojyo?"

"Told you I just had to sleep."

Hakkai chuckles a bit, maintaining his stance across the room, not daring to come near Gojyo. "Your bandages will need to be rewrapped soon. Perhaps after breakfast."

Gojyo instinctively looks to the window. So it is not sunset, then, but sunrise, fogless and clear. It is unusual enough to merit a second glance. He tries to stand, totters, and plops back down onto the bed, swearing at his legs. Hakkai almost takes a step forward to aid him, but holds back.

Gojyo glares at him and gets up again. He makes it to an upright position, staring straight at Hakkai, and lets himself fall forward so that he must be caught.

"Gojyo!" Hakkai grabs him and holds him while trying not to touch him, as if putting his hands on Gojyo will break him in two.

"Wrap m'fuckin' wounds, Hakkai," Gojyo hisses into Hakkai's shoulder. And forces his weight into Hakkai's arms with a heavy groan. For a moment, Hakkai just holds him. Just crouches and holds him the way he fell, cradling the body in his arms and testing his strength against it. Gojyo raises his head.

"What are you, gone stupid or something?"

Hakkai rises, shouldering Gojyo, and manhandles him back into the bed. The movement is so fast the residual protests of Gojyo's body only start once he is prone. "I suppose you could call it that," Hakkai responds, untying the knot over Gojyo's left eye. The dizziness is back, and Gojyo would be nauseous had he anything in his stomach to roil. He closes his eyes and focuses on the solidness of the bed below him, the reassuring immobility of the mattress, and Hakkai's cool hands on his head.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Hakkai asks, all business. "You took quite the blow. And here," he probes the matching lump on Gojyo's left cheek, "This doesn't look like the work of a fist."

"You get beat up that often?" Gojyo grunts, wincing as Hakkai touches the tender skin. "No, mum, it was a chair leg I think." He grins wryly. "They got it off the chair using my ribs."

Hakkai sucks in his breath, biting down on his lip to keep the smile on. "Oh, really?"

"Nothin' cracked. Would of felt it. Ate a lot of dirt for it, though." Gojyo rubs his stomach, tracing the lines of his ribs with an idle hand. Hakkai watches his fingers. "A fuckload of dirt. 'Cause you know when someone kicks you inna gut you gotta stop and just breathe? That was me havin' an affair with the ground." There are bruises, yellow and green, marring Gojyo's skin. Some are white at the center, the effect of forced healing at the weakest points.

"I wouldn't think you would be so vulnerable," Hakkai murmurs, and gets up, taking the bandages with him. He returns moments later with the scraping sound of a chair against the floor. There are more bandages in his lap, and a bowl of warm water.

Gojyo turns his head away, partly so Hakkai can get at his face with ease, and partly so he does not have to look at him when he lies. "They were human. What was I gonna do, snap 'em into pieces?"

"People aren't so fragile as that." And then Hakkai's hands pause, resting featherlight on Gojyo's face.

Gojyo bites down hard on his tongue to keep from laughing. The smile comes anyhow, sending pain into his cheek. "Sometimes I don't get you."

Hakkai lifts his head, wrapping fresh bandages over the sick bruises above Gojyo's eyebrow. "That is probably as it should be."


End file.
